


Compulsory Propagation

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Kink, Mpreg, RPF AU, bad!jensen, bottom!Jared, spnkink-meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where a virus has wiped out the female population. Jensen is a scientist experimenting with the possibility of male pregnancy, and Jared is an unwilling test subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an [](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[**spnkink_meme**](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/) **[prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/73425.html?thread=25357521#t25357521)**. Another milestone for me, I was sure I would never write mpreg….
> 
> Newly beta'd by sylsdarkplace!

Jensen returned from his month-long furlough feeling tanned, rested, and ready to get back to the business of saving the world. He donned his crisp white lab coat, nodded at his colleagues Misha and Sebastian, and then picked up the paperwork for his new test subject.

“Protocols have changed again,” Sebastian said, sipping at his cup of tea. “They think this might be the round where we actually get a subject to carry to term.”

Jensen felt a thrill of pride at the prospect of a breakthrough. A renowned andrologist, Jensen was one of an elite team of scientists working on the most important and prestigious project in history—trying to adjust the zero population growth dilemma left in the wake of the devastating Double X virus. There was an extra spring in his step as he made his way to his suite, comprised of his office and separate processing, examination, and breeding rooms. His nose was buried in his clipboard as he entered the exam room, muttering to himself about the new controls he needed to implement for his test subject.

“Good morning, Jared,” he said. “I’m Dr. Ackles. Together you and I are going to fix this mess that nasty virus left us in.”

He raised his eyes over his wire rimmed glasses and took in the subject strapped naked and gagged on the gurney before him. Jared looked at him with moist eyes, shaking his head and flexing his wrists and ankles against the restraints. Jensen was surprised; usually the paralytic agent rendered his subjects completely immobile until such time as physical responses were useful to catalog. He consulted his chart and saw that indeed, the paralytic had been removed for this round of trials.

He picked up his recorder. “Subject JP0719, aged 19, came to us through one of the usual channels, mandatory university physical. Subject seems to have taken well to the reassignment drugs and the artificial womb insertion, so now we will begin the process of impregnation.”

When his new test subject continued to strain against his bonds, Jensen sighed. “I promise I’m not going to intentionally hurt you, Jared. Not unless it’s in your control group instructions, of course.” He chuckled. “Never know what the boys upstairs are going to come up with next, am I right?”

Jared whimpered and tugged futilely at the soft cloth restraints binding him to the gurney. They would have to be replaced with something sturdier soon. “Says here you played basketball,” Jensen said, quite rhetorically since his subject was incapable of speech at the moment. “I used to play a little ball myself. We’ll get you out onto a court again soon; exercise will be good for you and the baby.”

He continued flipping through the pages of his patient’s chart. “Ah, this is interesting! You’re slated for ‘natural’ conception. Looks like we’ll be getting to know each other pretty well.” Jensen was pleased, though he schooled his features. He was a professional, after all. But his job was typically so clinical, and he rather enjoyed getting to know his subjects in the more intimate setting of the breeding room. He felt a faint stirring of anticipation in his groin.

“Hmmf!” the patient shook his head wildly.

“Oh, don’t pout,” Jensen said. “There’s no reason why we can’t both enjoy this experience.” He skimmed the papers a bit further and saw the tick mark next to the NONEJACULATE check box.

“Oops, spoke to soon,” Jensen said, patting Jared’s knee. “Ah, well, we all have to take one for the team in this time of crisis, am I right?”

He hummed to himself as he set about lining up the tools he would need for the preliminary examination. Of course, by the time test subjects got to Jensen’s department they had already been poked and prodded and tested, cleansed and waxed and oiled, but Jensen was methodical in his research and liked to conduct his own, more thorough, assessments.

He began by measuring the length and circumference of Jared’s limp penis, and then stroked it to hardness and took more measurements.

“Big boy,” Jensen said admiringly. “It’s a shame we’ll have to lock this away.” He continued stroking while he fingered the subject’s shorn testicles. When he determined Jared’s jerky movements were due to stimulation rather than his attempts to free himself, Jensen removed his hand and moved on with his examination.

“Sensitive nipples, always a good sign,” Jensen said, making some notations on Jared’s chart. When Jared’s erection started to flag from inattention Jensen adjusted the restraints so his legs bent back towards his chest, knees wide apart, and unlatched the lower third of the gurney to give him unrestricted access to his subject.

“Let’s check out how sensitive your prostate is, hmm?” Jensen said as he applied a liberal amount of lubricant to the speculum and then eased it inside Jared’s anus. “Rectum looks good, healthy color, tissue looks excellent. Nice and clean, good to see. You’ll be having daily enemas, of course, to keep everything ship shape.”

He slowly turned the crank and when the grunts and whimpers emitting from his subject became too distracting, Jensen turned on some light classical music.

“Excellent elasticity,” Jensen noted as the speculum reached its widest setting.

Jensen slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, though it seemed rather unnecessary considering how closely he would be working with Jared through the impregnation process. He applied some more lubricant to his first two fingers and slid them inside, murmuring, “Very nice, very nice.” His finger caressed the sensitive gland and his subject jerked in his bonds, his fading erection once again becoming more pronounced as blood flowed unimpeded to the organ. Jensen continued stroking and rubbing at the prostate until Jared’s penis was fully erect and his muffled pleas for freedom had been replaced by groans of arousal.

Jensen withdrew his hand and snapped off the gloves. “The subject is quite sensitive to sexual stimulation,” Jensen said into his recorder. “Given the hormones and drugs that are necessary to facilitate conception, regular milkings should be employed to ensure the subject’s health.”

Preliminary examination over, Jensen returned his tape recorder to its spot on the counter and went to the cupboard to pull out a penis cage made of surgical steel as well as a sterilized urethral sound that would lock to the cage. He didn’t think it would be necessary to catheterize Jared, but the sound would ensure that Jensen would be able to collect every urine specimen produced during the trial.

After applying a liberal amount of lubricant to the steel sound, he lifted Jared’s penis, limp again without Jensen’s constant attentions, and carefully inserted it. The gauge and length ensured that it could be easily removed for urination without necessitating removal of the entire cage. In Jensen’s experience, test subjects who were in the NONEJACULATE control could become pretty desperate; best not to chance it. The cage would remain in place until the trial ended.

Tears were leaking from Jared’s eyes as Jensen fitted the curved cage over his penis, snapping and locking it to the ring that encircled his scrotum.

“There, that’s not so bad, am I right?” Jensen asked, as he opened the door to wave in a couple of orderlies hanging around the hallway.

“Thanks, guys, I think we’re ready to move him to the processing room.”

Wordlessly the orderlies rolled the gurney out of the room while Jensen went off in search of a fresh cup of coffee. 


	2. Chapter 2

The processing room was really just an overlarge shower, a 30x30 stainless steel cube that featured evenly spaced shower heads with various attachments and numerous hooks and eyebolts to assist in securing some of the more reluctant subjects. From each wall the concrete floor canted slightly towards the center, so that water and other liquids ran swiftly down the large drain in the middle of the room.

Jared’s cloth restraints had been replaced with sturdy cuffs that would remain in place until the trial was over. At the moment, he was kneeling in the center of the floor with his ankles attached to a spreader bar and his wrists locked together over his head. He was shaking, whether from fear or cold Jensen couldn’t be sure. 

He paused in the doorway for a moment to enjoy Jared’s trembling form. Truly this was one of the more pleasant looking specimens he’d worked with over the past few years, and he was pleased that the boys upstairs had seen fit to send Jared his way. He made a mental note to send the Subject Assignment Team a muffin basket.

“Hello, Jared, sorry to keep you waiting,” Jensen said. “You know how it is, meetings and reports, never enough time to do any actual work, am I right?” 

Jensen chuckled softly, remembering that Jared was a student, had never worked in an actual profession, and likely had no idea what an annoyance everyday things like meetings and reports could be. And luckily for the boy he never would know; Jared’s body was far more useful at this moment than his mind could ever hope to be.

Jensen knelt down behind Jared and—under the auspices of checking for any abnormalities—caressed Jared’s spine, causing the boy to flinch and try to twist out of his restraints.

“Why?” Jared whispered. The gag had been removed for the time being on Jensen’s orders; the processing and breeding rooms were extremely well-soundproofed, so there was no danger in his subject upsetting the occupants of the other testing suites. When Jensen wanted some peace and quiet, he could dip into his store of gags and pacifiers to calm or subdue his subject. 

Other researchers, growing tired of near constant begging and crying, had suggested taking the extreme measure of removing tongues or severing vocal chords, but Jensen didn’t think that was necessary, and had argued that such measures might in fact skew the results of the trials. 

That was all true, but Jensen had to admit, if only to himself, that he also rather enjoyed the sounds his subjects made when they pleaded for mercy. He found it…stimulating.

“It’s time to get you all nice and clean, inside and out,” Jensen said cheerfully, ignoring Jared’s question, which he considered rhetorical. This was pretty much a formality at this point; the combination of a liquid diet and daily enemas that each subject undertook in the weeks prior to the actual testing phase meant that nothing unpleasant was likely to be found in the subject’s system.

But protocols were protocols, and Jensen had to admit, if only to himself, that he rather liked administering this particular procedure. 

“If you’re a good boy, Jared, and do everything I ask, I won’t give you the cayenne solution today. Does that seem fair?”

“Please, please, stop this,” Jared cried, trying to twist away from Jensen’s touch.

Jensen began filling the enema bag that had been left hanging on one of the hooks with warm, soapy water.

“Please let me go home,” the boy moaned. Jensen rolled Jared on to his back and then unlocked the spreader bar.

“Jared? Are you going to behave? Are you going to hold yourself open for me?”

“Please,” Jared mumbled, but he kept his feet planted on the floor wide apart and waited for Jensen to begin. Jensen kept the spreader handy just in case.

Jensen slid a finger into Jared’s tight channel, pushing up as deep as he could. For his own amusement, he crooked his index finger against Jared’s prostate, and the boy moaned. Jensen watched with interest as Jared’s penis struggled to get hard within the confines of its cage. Jensen didn’t envy him, being himself a firm believer that regular—even, frequent—orgasms both cleared the mind and restored the body.

No, Jensen didn’t envy him, but he did feel a little thrill when he looked at cage. Jensen wondered how long it might take Jared to become so strung-out that his thoughts descended into incoherence. Perhaps he could gather information from Jared on this topic as the trial went on. A little side-project, as it were.

Shaking his head Jensen returned to his current task. He slid the enema nozzle several inches into Jared’s pretty pink hole, and Jared’s breath hitched. 

“This will feel so good,” Jensen murmured. “Get all that nasty bacteria out so we can put a baby in you, hmm?”

Jared sobbed at that, and Jensen had to squeeze his cock through his pale blue scrubs to get himself under control.

The water slowly, slowly entered his subject’s tender rectum, and Jared began to cry in earnest as his bowels filled with the liquid, probably a touch too cool for comfort. It was not long before the soap caused Jared to cramp up, and he doubled over in pain.

“Shh, shh,” Jensen said as he rubbed Jared’s belly to help push the water up further. 

Jensen wasn’t cruel, and he only made Jared hold the soapy solution for 30 minutes before he allowed Jared to void, though Jared begged for release almost incessantly until time was up.

The process was repeated two more times with clear water, at a more comfortable temperature, and Jared was starting to relax. He wasn’t happy but he wasn’t in any excessive pain or discomfort as far as Jensen could tell.

“One more, Jared, you’re being a very good boy.” This time he didn’t stop at two quarts though, instead adding more and more liquid until Jared was openly weeping and his belly was distended.

“You’re going to be so lovely when you’re pregnant,” Jensen said, admiring the swell of Jared’s stomach. “Just look at you.”

“Please, Dr. Ackles, it’s too much,” Jared whimpered. It was the first time Jared had spoken his name and Jensen felt oddly pleased.

“Nonsense, Jared, your body can hold twice that much.” Jared groaned and Jensen smiled indulgently. “Don’t worry, we’ll work you up to it.”

Once the final bag had been emptied into Jared’s body, Jensen produced a thick plug and worked it in so Jared wouldn’t have to strain himself too much holding all the liquid sloshing around in his intestines. Then he helped Jared stand on shaky legs and instructed him to walk around and get used to the sensation of fullness. Jared slowly walked around the small room, cradling his swollen stomach and snuffling miserably.

When Jensen decided Jared had had enough he allowed him to release one last time and then wiped Jared’s body all over with a damp cloth. 

The enemas had served a greater purpose than cleansing; they had also left Jared wrung out physically and emotionally, and he obediently followed Jensen towards the last room of his new home.

“You’re doing so good, Jared. Let’s go get you situated and then we can begin the breeding process.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter crosses off the **chastity devices** square on my kink-bingo card and the **sex pollen** square for my trope_bingo card. (What? Scientifically manufactured pheromones are totally the same thing as sex pollen :)
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I wish I had a good excuse but really...I have only my addiction to Candy Crush to blame. *hides*

The breeding room had been set up precisely to Jensen’s specifications. The lamps emitted a gentle amber glow, the walls had been painted an inviting shade of cinnamon, and the large bed was the color of green tea because green was said to help facilitate conception, if one believed in the practice of Feng Shui. (Jensen himself did not, but had decided a little extra luck couldn’t hurt.) The mattress itself was both firm enough to withstand hours of vigorous activity at a stretch and soft enough for Jensen and his subjects to lie about in comfort for hours.

“October 23. Subject J-P-0-7-1-9/Class 3/J-A-1-5 has undergone extensive testing to evaluate his ability to conceive and carry a fetus, and is now ready to enter the trial phase. As subject is still rather skittish, I’ve deemed it advisable to position him in the classic breeding posture, with his extremities affixed to a bench that is, of course, padded for his comfort.”

Jensen ignored the soft snort Jared gave at the word ‘comfort’ and continued speaking into his recorder.

“The pheromone diffuser has been set to its maximum level to stimulate the reproductive glands and increase the subject’s ability to produce genetically modified ova in the false womb. The subject seems to be particularly susceptible to the effects of the diffuser. Vitals will be checked later to corroborate this, but from a cursory visual inspection the subject’s eyes are glazed, he has begun to perspire, and he is seeking stimulation for his genitals although, of course, the steel cage is preventing erection from whatever friction the subject might be able to achieve.”

Jensen set aside his recorder and looked across the room, admiring the view of Jared bound by his wrists and ankles to the low bench, his bottom raised high and his long arms and legs twining helplessly against their bonds, like saplings desperately grasping for the sky. His hips rocked back and forth, and he groaned softly as he rubbed his caged penis against the bench.

“Well, Jared, are you ready to begin?” Jensen asked as he removed his lab coat and hung it carefully in the closet. He methodically stepped out of his shoes and socks and then stripped out of his scrubs, folding them neatly and setting them aside on a chair in the corner.

Jared continued to struggle against his restraints, but the long morning of tests and procedures Jensen had put him through had left Jared without the energy to truly resist, which was just how Jensen liked it. After all, he was not some slavering rapist hiding in a dark alley. He had perfected his methods of bringing about docility in his subjects to the benefit of all involved. He had taught seminars on the subject.

“Really, it’s lucky you were assigned to me,” Jensen said as he stroked himself to full hardness. “Not all the scientists in my division have been cleared to be such, ah, active participants in the conception process.”

He knelt down in front of the bench, lifting Jared’s chin so that they were making eye contact for perhaps the first time since their introduction that morning. Jared would not hold his gaze though, and lowered his lashes to look at the floor.

“You and I are going to make such beautiful babies Jared, am I right?” Jensen told him as he brushed away a tear that had slid from the corner of Jared’s eye. “Just trust me, give yourself over to me. We’re going to fix the world.” A noise escaped Jared that might have been a sob, and Jensen patted his head, stroked his fingers through Jared’s mass of soft brown hair.

He stood and walked over to the nightstand, where he had left a tray of sterilized equipment. He opened the plastic wrapper on a large equine syringe and drew up 600cc of the slippery silicone-based lubricant he favored. He returned to the breeding bench and took a moment to admire Jared’s taut buttocks, two perfect creamy globes protecting that pretty pink hole that Jensen was, quite literally, aching to penetrate.

“This will feel a bit cold at first,” Jensen murmured as he spread Jared’s cheeks apart with his fingers and eased the syringe inside. He depressed the plunger slowly, imagining the fluid filling Jared’s tight rectum, the cool lubricant warming to Jared’s body heat.

Jared shuddered beneath him and Jensen said, “Shhh, that’s not so bad. You’re being such a good boy for me, Jared.”

He set the syringe aside and sank to his knees behind Jared’s spread legs. This was the closest Jensen ever came to prayer. This was how he worshipped.

He pressed his hips against Jared’s raised backside, feeling his cock jump at the contact, and he had to remind himself that he was a professional, that this was mating for the purpose of procreation. He fumbled behind him for his forgotten recorder and cleared his throat.

“The subject has been thoroughly cleaned, restrained, and injected with a high-quality lubricant that should ease the passage and prevent any tearing or pain. Studies have shown [reference Dr. Glover’s article in the May newsletter] that the comfort of the carrier has a direct correlation to successful conception.”

“M’not,” Jared muttered as Jensen pried his cheeks apart and lined his cock head up with Jared’s anus, still lax and pliable from the anal speculum and the numerous enemas he’d been subjected to.

“Not what?” Jensen asked, only half listening.

“Not comfortable.”

Jensen breached the first two rings of Jared’s sphincter, groaning as the many nerves clustered in the head of his penis cried out in pleasure. Jared’s words penetrated the fog of lust clouding Jensen’s brain, and Jensen blew out a harsh gasp of breath, thumbing on his recorder again.

“Subject...claims...to be in a state of...unf...discomfort...probably due to...nngg...cage...”

Beneath him Jared was squirming as much as his bonds allowed, tossing his head back and forth like an agitated yearling.

“Subject’s rectum...surprisingly tight...”

Jensen ran his hand down Jared’s spine and around one curved buttock, giving it a pinch that had Jared gasping in surprise beneath him.

“Subject ... displays...subject... goddamned fuck...”

With a feral growl Jensen tossed the recorder aside so he could focus on the task at hand and buried himself completely in Jared’s ass, stilling for a moment to revel in the sensation of Jared’s rectum fluttering around his penis. Then he began rocking into Jared at a smooth and steady pace that he maintained for several minutes, marveling that the exquisite young man beneath him was his to command.

The effects of the pheromone diffuser coupled with Jensen’s stimulation of Jared’s prostate on each thrust had the boy rocking back against Jensen; his soft pleas for Jensen to remove the cage making Jensen crazy. He steadied the body beneath him and then pulled most of the way out and slammed home again and again, pushing lovely little grunting noises from Jared each time his groin slammed up against Jared’s ass.

 _Take my cock so good,_ Jensen thought, biting his lip to stop a torrent of filthy words from escaping his lips. He was a professional, after all, and this was being monitored. Wouldn’t due to lose control while they were being recorded.

_Perfect goddamn ass, so pretty and pale, look even better spanked raw..._

Jensen felt his testicles drawing up, and with a final corkscrewing motion of his hips he came so hard he felt dizzy. He collapsed on Jared’s back, pushing another grunt from the boy, whose own hips had not stopped moving as he sought his own release.

“Please Dr. Ackles, please take it off!” Jared begged, his voice breaking from lust he could not sate. “Please please _please..._ ”

“Shh,” Jensen soothed. “I need you to hold still.” He withdrew and tilted Jared’s hips up further, allowing gravity to keep his sperm in place until he was ready. He walked back over to the tray on shaky legs, pausing to grab his recorder.

“First test was completed satisfactorily,” Jensen said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt. He glanced up at where Jared was trying to hold still but couldn’t quite stop grinding his caged penis into the bench beneath him. Fresh arousal coursed through him and he cleared his throat.

“As with trials 1-4 and 1-3, subject will be fitted with a special device that mimics the canine _bulbus glandis_ until his next scheduled breeding.”

Jared craned his neck. “A what??”

“Shhh.” Jensen placed the recorder on his instrument tray. “Almost finished, then you can rest for a bit.” He knelt behind Jared and inserted the glossy black plug, careful to ensure that none of his seed escaped. Then he reached for the pump and slowly inflated it until he was sure there was no possibility of his semen leaking out.

“There we go, how’s that feel?” Jensen asked as he unstrapped Jared’s wrists and ankles from the bench.

Jared didn’t answer, and when Jensen glanced down he saw tears rolling down Jared’s face.

“I know, but it will all be worth it in the end,” he said as he helped Jared stand on long coltish legs that didn't want to support him. “Just go lie down and rest for awhile, hmm?”

Jared collapsed face down on the bed, restlessly arching his back like a cat as he ground down into the mattress. He was practically mewling with need, and Jensen’s cock gave another interested jerk. It seemed the diffuser was working on him as well, if his quick refractory period was any indication. He needed to return to his lab, drop off his tape to the medical transcriptionist, ring for a nurse to monitor Jared’s vitals. Instead he crawled up onto the bed next to Jared and wrapped his arms around the boy, stilling his movements.

“You’re just going to make it worse doing that,” he admonished, even as his hand drifted lower to cup Jared’s smooth, swollen testicles. He turned Jared onto his back and nudged his legs apart, raised Jared’s arms up so his hands were next to his head.

“I need you to try and rest for me, can you do that?”

Jared shook his head, looking up at Jensen with such a pitiful expression that Jensen had to chuckle.

“Poor puppy. Do I need to tie you to the bed?”

“No, Dr. Ackles,” Jared whispered.

“Good boy.” Reluctantly Jensen stood and dressed. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. If you need anything there’s a call button by the bed.”

Jared looked feverish, a hectic color in his cheeks, but he had managed to stop his incessant humping for the time being, instead gripping the bedclothes. His eyes followed Jensen’s every move until he slipped quietly out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Richings started every Class 3 weekly status meeting with a roll call so tedious that Jensen sometimes thought he would rather stab out his eardrums than have to listen any longer. Richings spoke in a clipped, precise manner, and was easily one of the most boring men Jensen had ever met. These endless, insipid meetings annoyed him to no end. It was times like these when Jensen truly envied his subjects, able to lay about all day and leave the stresses of meetings and job performance to others.  
  
“J-A-1-1-1-8?” Richings asked, drawing out each letter and digit so it was about five seconds long.  
  
“Negative,” said Dr. Barnes.  
  
“T-J-0-6-1-4?”  
  
“Negative,” Misha said.  
  
“O-C-0-7-2-0?”  
  
On and on it went. Jensen zoned out for a while, thinking about his subject. Jared had been a model patient the past couple of months; the combination of pheromones and sexual frustration rendering him as malleable as modeling clay. He could now take more than 3 quarts during his morning enemas, and Jensen loved to watch him walk his slow laps around the processing room while he cradled his swollen belly. Before he let Jared relieve himself, Jensen would lay him on his back and rub cocoa butter into the tender skin of his abdomen while Jared focused on the breathing exercises Jensen had prescribed to keep him calm.  
  
And after Jensen had told Jared that he’d be allowed to climax once he had been successfully impregnated, Jared had become an enthusiastic (and surprisingly acrobatic) participant in their daily breeding sessions.  
  
Misha elbowed him in the ribs, and Jensen awoke from his musings long enough to say, “Negative.” He tried to stifle his irritation, but really. They’d only had a handful of successful conceptions in the three years Jensen had been with WSV Research, Inc. and still, every single meeting started with a 15 minute census of failure.  
  
The dismal roll call was followed by the same squabbles that took place at each and every status meeting. Dr. Stuart tried to persuade the other researchers to back his idea of silencing some of the unhappier subjects through a quick and painless vocal cord operation. As it was every week, his idea was roundly shouted down. In new business, interdepartmental tensions had risen because one of the buzzkills working in Class 1 had tried to go public with the information that not all the research subjects in the facility were there voluntarily. He’d been stopped, of course, but they were all reminded not to speak to any members of the press for any reason.  
  
“Oh, please,” Sebastian muttered next to him. “Like every R&D group in the country doesn’t have its own class 3s.” Jensen nodded in agreement.  
  
“As you know,” Dr. Richings said, finally beginning to wrap things up, “next week is the three month mark for this round of trials. Any subjects that do not test positive by then will be required to increase their breeding schedule to at least four times daily. If this is a problem for any of you, personally,” Richings said, giving the doctors under his charge a sharp look, “then let me remind you that we still have access to a stable of high sperm count, ah, volunteers. There’s no shame in requiring some extra assistance.”  
  
“Did you hear that, Stuart?” Sebastian asked with a grin, and several doctors around the table laughed quietly. Dr. Stuart scowled at him.  
  
“All right, gentlemen, that’s it for this week. Remember, Dr. Bancroft will be bringing the new interns around this week, so please try to be helpful and answer any of their questions. Dr. Ackles, I believe they were hoping to observe you this afternoon, you were planning on a joint milking/breeding session, correct?”  
  
“Yes, at 3:30,” Jensen said. “I can move my subject to OR 9 if nobody else is using it today.”  
  
“That should be fine,” Richings said, standing to indicate the meeting was over. “Good luck, men. We need to get a win this time.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Operating Room 9 was similar to the other eleven ORs on level 5 that had been optimistically constructed to help facilitate cesareans—should they ever manage to get a subject to carry to term. The only difference was a raised gallery of seats behind protective glass that allowed visitors to view the procedures taking place 10 feet below, a modern take on an old-fashioned operating theatre. When the orderlies wheeled Jared in, strapped to a gurney, he took in the cold, sterile room fearfully and then looked to Jensen for reassurance.  
  
“Good afternoon, Jared,” Jensen said as he petted Jared’s hair absently.  
  
“What’s going on? What are you doing?”  
  
“It’s nothing to worry about, we’re just going to perform your weekly prostate massage in here,” Jensen said. “You do want to be milked, I imagine?”  
  
“Please, yes, Dr. Ackles,” Jared whispered, embarrassed. “Need it.”  
  
“Because if you’d rather wait till we don’t have an audience, I’d understand.”  
  
Jared looked at him, puzzled, and then followed Jensen’s gaze to the large glass window above the OR where a row of interns stood watching the scene below.  
  
“Oh, god.” Jared’s eyes widened and his cheeks turned crimson with mortification. He turned his face away and tried to bury it in the stiff sheets of the stretcher.  
  
“These are our new interns, Jared, and they need to observe a prostate massage. Of course, we have to get your signature on the consent form, so if you’d rather not be watched, we can get another subject to agree.”  
  
“So you’ll take me back to the room and do it? In private?”  
  
Jensen smiled fondly. “Ah, no, sorry Jared. Milkings happen every Tuesday precisely at 3:30 p.m., as you well know. If you don’t sign the agreement form, we’ll have to wait another week. Wouldn’t do to mess up your routine, am I right?”  
  
Jared squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a sob of frustration. It shouldn’t make Jensen as hot as it did. He sometimes thought that the traits that made him such an esteemed researcher also made him a not-so-good person.  
  
Ah, well. Nothing to be done for it now.  
  
“Please, Dr. Ackles, I  _need_  it,” Jared whispered. “Does it  _have_  to be here? With them watching?”  
  
“I’m afraid so,” Jensen said. The look Jared flashed him told Jensen he didn’t buy the apologetic tone for a minute. Jensen could see Jared wrestle with himself, trying to decide whether he could wait another week. Jared had tried on several occasions to relieve himself between his regularly scheduled milkings, only to be thwarted by the cold eye of the camera mounted in the center of the room, and a bored voice clicking in to tell him he must stop before he was strapped to his bed and forcibly prevented from stimulating his own prostate.  
  
Finally, he held out a hand for the pen and, once Jensen had unstrapped his arm, signed his name to the forms Jensen provided.  
  
“Consent forms,” Jared muttered. “Hilarious.”  
  
Jensen ignored him. It was an old argument; every time Jared surfaced from his hormone haze long enough to think clearly, he accused Jensen of kidnapping and rape and all sorts of unsavory crimes. Jensen had provided a copy of the consent form Jared had signed to obtain his free physical at the university health center, where the tiny print at the bottom of page 3 indicated that suitable candidates might be required to help researchers study various means of rebuilding humanity in the wake of the Double-X virus.  
  
Jared had balled up the contract and pinged it off of Jensen’s forehead.  
  
“Nice aim,” Jensen had said calmly. “Now lie back please.”  
  
That had been only a week or so into the trial, and Jared was generally much more complacent these days. Jensen had a pretty good track record when it came to breaking in subjects, making them see how important this research was. Sometimes Jensen wondered if Jared was biding his time, waiting for some way to make a run for it, but he knew Jared would eventually come around completely.  
  
“I’m going to release your straps now,” Jensen said, “and I expect you to be a good boy. Remember, these milking sessions are just to ease your discomfort and have no bearing on the outcome of this trial. It’s a privilege, Jared, not something you’re entitled to.”  
  
Jared snorted hard enough to blow his bangs off of his forehead, but he said nothing as Jensen unstrapped Jared’s limbs and helped him into the gynecological exam table that had been rolled into the room for today’s demonstration. Then he removed Jared’s flimsy hospital gown.  
  
Jared laid on his back while Jensen maneuvered his feet into the stirrups and then tugged on Jared’s spread thighs until his bottom was just hanging over the edge of the table. Resolute, Jared stared up at the ceiling and maintained his position.  
  
“Very good,” Jensen murmured as he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and applied a liberal amount of lubricant to his index and middle finger. “Being so good, Jared.”  
  
Jared was just starting to relax under Jensen’s touch when the intercom hummed to life, causing him to tense up all over and then cover his eyes with one long arm.  
  
“Thank you for allowing us to observe, Dr. Ackles,” came the disembodied voice from the speaker.  
  
“Not a problem, Dr. Bancroft, happy to oblige. We all have to learn somewhere, am I right?” As he spoke he stroked one of Jared’s trembling thighs with one hand while he circled Jared’s rectum with a finger.  
  
“If you wouldn’t mind walking us through the procedure?” Bancroft asked.  
  
“Of course.” Jensen looked up at the interns and smiled. “Actually, I could use a volunteer if anybody’s interested.”  
  
There was a flurry of activity in the observation room before a dark-haired young man pushed through the doors to the OR, smiling eagerly. While the young doctor washed his hands and snapped on the powdered latex gloves, Jensen eased one finger inside Jared, causing the boy to shudder in his stirrups.  
  
“Good afternoon, Doctor...?” Jensen asked, as he continued slipping his finger in and out.  
  
“Cohen,” the young doctor said nervously. “Dr. Matt Cohen. It’s an honor to be here, Dr. Ackles.”  
  
Jensen smiled. Of course it was.  
  
“Well, Dr. Cohen, typically I prefer to perform this procedure with the patient on his hands and knees. Let gravity do some of the work, am I right?”  
  
Dr. Cohen nodded in agreement.  
  
“But since we have an audience today, I think we’ll probably get a better angle with the OR camera if the subject is on his back.”  
  
“Of course,” Dr. Cohen agreed.  
  
Jensen glanced up at the camera to make sure that it was situated correctly. The high definition screen displayed every pretty twitch of Jared’s hips as he clenched against the finger Jensen was rubbing around inside him.  
  
“Still, I’m rather a stickler for data collection, so I’d like you to hold that beaker just under the head of our subject’s penis,” Jensen said, nodding at the tiny 10-ml glass on the tray next to the exam table. “Make sure you gather all of his output. Later, I’ll be able to analyze volume and sperm count and compare it with previous prostate yields.”  
  
“I’m happy to help, Dr. Ackles.”  
  
Jared coughed out something that sounded suspiciously like ‘sycophant’ and Dr. Cohen’ smile faltered before Jensen smiled at him reassuringly.  
  
“He’s just a bit grumpy,” Jensen explained. “Hormones and all.”  
  
Jensen turned to address the class at large. “Now, I’m not going to insult your intelligence, I know you all know how to locate the prostate, yes?” The interns all nodded.  
  
“That’s good. If you’re fibbing, I expect you to spend some quality time tonight figuring it out.”  
  
Several of the doctors laughed nervously.  
  
“Our test subject is undergoing the implantation procedure without the ability to experience orgasm, as you can tell from the way his penis has been confined in its flaccid state. It might seem cruel, but we’ve been working away at the problem of male pregnancy for over a decade now, and we’re really close to a breakthrough. Some recent studies indicate that the build-up of endorphins that accompany long-term vasocongestion could possibly increase conception rates.”  
  
“Fuck you, Dr. Ackles,” Jared muttered from under his elbow. Dr. Cohen blinked in surprise but Jensen ignored him.  
  
“In order to relieve some of the pressure that builds up in the testicles when ejaculation is not possible, I've prescribed the subject with weekly prostate massages." As Jensen spoke, his finger hit Jared's sweet spot and he began gently massaging the gland. "If done correctly, a prostate massage can feel  _almost_  as good as an actual orgasm.” He ran his other hand over the steel cage imprisoning Jared’s penis, feeling the flesh quiver and strain to grow erect.  
  
“Of course, that’s a little more difficult to achieve when the penis is encased in a device such as this.”  
  
He continued rubbing his finger over Jared’s prostate, watching as Jared’s lips parted slightly. He knew from his own experience that Jared was feeling an intense pressure in his testicles combined with the oddly pleasurable need to urinate. Without release, the feeling would soon become...maddening.  
  
“Good boy,” Jensen whispered as Jared’s hips thrust rhythmically in search of any sort of gratification.  
  
Jared was near tears by the time the first dribbles of semen limped out of his penis, pleading softly for Jensen to take it off and let him come.  _Just like clockwork_ , Jensen thought with a small smile. Every Tuesday at precisely 3:37 p.m. the begging began.  
  
“Dr. Cohen, if you’d like you can massage the subject’s testicles gently. This helps keep the flow of semen moving and adds to the pleasure of the experience.”  
  
While taking care not to move the flask away from the drooling tip of Jared’s penis, Dr. Cohen reached for Jared’s shorn balls and began kneading them lightly.  
  
Jensen was having trouble looking away from the large screen over Jared’s head, fascinated by how the high-definition camera captured every flex and squeeze of Jared’s buttocks. He thought in future he might enjoy spending more time with Jared in OR 9.  
  
It took a little over 10 minutes to drain Jared’s testicles this way, and by the time Jensen had finished stroking and massaging the gland as Jared whimpered and writhed and bucked, Jared was practically insensate.  
  
He didn’t even protest when Jensen addressed the class and told them that fornication directly post-milking was standard, and that if anyone felt uncomfortable watching, they were free to leave.  
  
No one did.  
  
Jensen took Jared in that cold, sterile room, as Jared’s rectum fluttered around him, desperate to squeeze any pleasure from the experience, though of course it was fruitless. His eyes stayed firmly hidden behind his long arm, but Jensen could see the pretty pink flush of his skin, hear the rapid breathing. Jared wanted this just as much as Jensen, even though he could only stumble along from one near orgasm to the next.  
  
Jensen glanced up at the windows as he approached his own orgasm, noting that Dr. Bancroft and two-thirds of his students were captivated and looking distinctly aroused. The other two who seemed a bit green, well, they’d probably carve out a happy career in Class 1 if they stuck with WSV.  
  
Jensen returned his attention to Jared, eyes darting between the larger-than-life image of his cock spearing into Jared overhead and the real thing spread out beneath him, until he couldn’t hold back any longer. He came silently, biting back an unprofessional groan as his balls emptied into Jared’s twitching rectum.  
  
 _God_ , he thought, wiping sweat and tears from Jared’s face.  _What a feeling_.  
  
Over the intercom, Dr. Bancroft cleared his throat. “Thank you, Dr. Ackles. That was quite, ah, illuminating.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Jensen said, voice low and gruff with sated desire. He pulled out, drew up his scrub pants, and reached for the inflatable plug that he used to keep all of his seed inside Jared until the next round. He slid it in easily and then squeezed the bulb several times until Jared bleated with discomfort. Then he detached the pump and drew Jared’s gown back around him.  
  
“Good boy,” he whispered as he readied Jared to be wheeled back to the breeding suite. Once there, he’d allow Jared to dress in his soft pajama pants and the oversized grey hoodie he seemed to favor when his body wasn’t needed for trials and tests.  
  
“Good boy,” he repeated.  
  
  
  
  
  
Another Tuesday, another interminable meeting. Jensen wasn’t even very hungry, but he was feeling petty and so snatched the last cruller before Sebastian could take his seat next to him.  
  
“Wanker,” Sebastian muttered.  
  
Dr. Richings glided to the front of the room, and Jensen had to fight the urge to offer the pallid, bony man his pastry. He certainly looked like he needed it.  
  
“Did you read Glover’s latest article?” Misha whispered as he doodled a series of lewd angels on his notepad.  
  
“O-C-0-7-2-0?” Richings began.  
  
“Negative.”  
  
Jensen shrugged. “Interesting hypothesis, but I’m not sure his research backs it up.”  
  
“Well, of course  _you’d_ say that,” Sebastian said. Across the table, Dr. Stuart glared at them for talking during roll.  
  
 _Suck up_ , Jensen mouthed, and Dr. Stuart bristled before returning his attention to the front of the room.  
  
“C-N-1-1-0-5?”  
  
“Negative.”  
  
“What are you boys up to this weekend?” Roche asked as he drained his tea.  
  
“Same old nothing,” Misha said. “Though it’s supposed to be a lovely weekend for boating, if anyone’s interested.”  
  
“Sorry, I’m going to be busy,” Jensen said.  
  
“J-P-0-7-1-9?”  
  
Jensen took a sip of his coffee, relishing his triumph.  
  
“Positive,” he said smugly.


	5. Chapter 5

Jensen sits back and enjoys the sudden clamor of voices that arise after his pronouncement. Dr. Richings is looking as though he wished he had a gavel to pound as his medical experts start arguing protocols and best-practices that will need to be implemented since one of their researchers has finally managed to impregnate a subject through ‘natural’ methods.

“You sly dog,” Misha says, while Sebastian gives him a saucy wink. Across the conference table, Dr. Stuart looks apoplectic and begins to level accusations against Jensen’s character, lineage, and scientific achievements.

Jensen produces a tidy stack of photocopied packets detailing his methods and results from his satchel and distributes them around the table. Meetings are scheduled to decide how things will proceed, and Jensen lets it all wash over him, disguising his smug glee with an expression of mild scientific interest.

He has achieved the impossible, and whatever happens next, nobody will be able to take that away from him.

 

In the days that follow, Jensen pretends that nothing has changed as he records Jared’s vitals, cleanses him internally in the processing room, and of course fucks him into the mattress as often as he can get it up. He knows it will be a few weeks yet until he’s cleared to give Jared the happy news; a clinical trial carried out by the boys in Psych a few years back concluded that subjects—even the civic-minded class 1s, who actually _did_ volunteer their bodies for the greater good—did not react well to the news that they were pregnant. (They also did not react well to being fed lies about their condition, but, well, in Jensen’s experience, test subjects were prone to complaining about every little perceived injustice.)

He finds it difficult to resist caressing Jared’s belly when he’s spread out beneath Jensen; although, he is pleased to put off removing the stainless steel cage for a few more weeks. He had promised, after all, that he’d allow Jared to ejaculate if they managed to pull this off, and Jensen is nothing if not a man of his word. He has also grown increasingly curious to see what Jared looks like during orgasm. He would like to forgo the weekly prostate milkings that keep Jared at least slightly sane, would like to see Jared grow even more desperate before he is allowed release, but Jensen knows that the protocols are in place for a reason.

So he waits.

Four weeks pass in this manner. Five. Six. When Jensen grows weary of being yelled at by Jared and called all sorts of unpleasant names, Jensen dials up the levels of pheromones that drift into Jared’s room through the air ducts, and Jared becomes so miserably aroused that he’s in an almost permanent fog. So pliable that way. So much easier to coax and persuade and bed, while Jared lies beneath him, sweating and shivering and pleading for any sort of touch.

But, finally at what Jensen has estimated to be seven weeks into Jared’s pregnancy, the ultrasound radiologists are ready to stage a coup if they can’t get their hands on Jared—not that Jensen blames them. The best of the best (of the men, anyway) had been recruited and kept on retainer by WSV years ago, and they’ve been twiddling their thumbs ever since.

Still. Jared is _his_ , and Jensen can’t quell the possessive feelings that rise up when he thinks about turning Jared’s care over to other teams as the pregnancy progresses.

 

In the end, he doesn’t tell Jared so much as let Jared figure it out for himself. 

“He’s ready Dr. Ackles,” says one of the techs as Jensen enters his exam room.

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you, Trevor. That will be all.”

“It’s Travis,” the tech mutters, but Jensen pays him no mind. 

His directions have been carried out exactly, which is always a pleasant surprise.

Jared is naked, hair still damp from his recent shower and cleanse. His mouth is held open wide by a Jennings dental gag and his wrists and ankles are strapped down with medical cuffs to one of the sturdy chairs Jensen had brought up from the phlebotomy lab. Additional straps have been placed around his chest and abdomen. His pupils are wide with fear and his breathing shallow as he tries to twist out of his bindings.

Jensen can understand his distress; it’s been quite some time since Jensen had to bind Jared. After his long months in captivity, being continually poked and prodded by teams of surgeons and physicians, the boy has become quite malleable—physically at least. He still has a temper that flares up on occasion. His angry outbursts stir something primal in Jensen that makes him simultaneously want to preserve and extinguish that spark.

But that’s a bit of self-reflection he’ll have time for tonight while he sips a glass of Macallan 18 and peruses the latest medical journals. Right now, he has other matters to attend to, and Jared looks absolutely delicious as he bucks and squirms on the chair. Jensen cannot wait to see what he looks like when he’s actually allowed a real climax.

“Tch, Jared, calm down,” Jensen soothes as he rolls a stool up between Jared’s spread legs. He produces the key to Jared’s cock cage, and Jared looks confused. The cage comes off once a week, directly post milking, so that Jared can be thoroughly washed before a freshly sterilized cage is re-secured. Jensen has ensured that Jared’s daily and weekly routines occur without variance since the start of the trial, and he sees with some satisfaction that Jared is deeply unsettled by this change.

He places the cage on a nearby rolling tray and then reaches for the tube of lubricant. Jared shakes his head weakly and moans. A long, thin line of drool runs down his tongue, over his bottom lip. Jensen rubs the saliva into Jared’s lips until they glisten, noting that his pale blue scrub pants have suddenly become uncomfortably tight. But he’ll get to his own pleasures in good time.

He cups Jared’s scrotum and notes how quickly his penis begins to harden. He wonders how it feels for Jared to be free of the cage, if it’s pure bliss or if there’s a sense of loss there as well. Though Jensen has an inquisitive nature he’s certainly not planning to put his own body through such an ordeal to satisfy his curiosity.

He uncaps the lube and slicks up his hand liberally. The skin of Jared’s dick is warm and soft, the blood pulsing underneath the surface turning it a fetching shade of rose. He strokes softly at first, runs his hand up the length of the shaft and back down, then brushes his thumb along the sensitive cluster of nerves right under the head. Jared groans, trying to buck up into Jensen’s hand, though the restraining straps prevent him from moving.

He’s trying to talk, garbled pleas that Jensen ignores as he continues stroking his patient with clinical efficiency. When he senses Jared getting close he pulls his hand away, gives Jared a moment to collect himself, and then begins again.

His left hand rolls and tugs at Jared’s smooth testicles while his right hand continues dancing up and down the slick length of Jared’s cock. Twice more he brings Jared almost to the edge before pulling his hand away and starting again.

The fourth time he pulls his hand away, Jared’s cock bounces and twitches, his balls are drawn tight and full, and Jensen holds his breath, watching Jared’s body balance on the precipice. He wonders if he might have pushed too far, driven Jared to a frustrating ruined orgasm, but Jared sucks in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and settles again.

Interesting. Jensen will have to pursue this at a later date, but today he’s going to give Jared the orgasm he’s earned after his months of enforced chastity.

He reaches for the tray of instruments and picks up one of the receptacles he placed there earlier for collecting semen. It’s made of a stretchy rubber, clear so as not to obstruct Jensen’s view, and fits snugly over the head of Jared’s prick with a bulb at the top to catch Jared’s release. It will be perfect for measuring Jared’s semen output later this afternoon, once Jensen’s finished with him.

Jared’s eyes water from the new sensation, his hips shifting uselessly as he seeks more stimulation.

Jensen gives him a moment to get used to the receptacle, applies fresh lubricant, and then begins to slowly work Jared’s cock again. It’s an angry red now, warm under Jensen’s hand as he strokes with a precise, evenly spaced rhythm. Just at the point where he would pull his hand away if he were still trying to nudge Jared slowly towards his orgasm, he quickens his pace just a bit, just enough.

He meets Jared’s gaze a mere second before Jared’s entire body jolts against the straps like he’s being electrocuted, wailing inarticulately, eyes squeezed tight in ecstasy. Jensen milks him a few more seconds until Jared collapses limp against the chair.

Jensen removes the clear bulb, caps it, and labels it before setting it aside.

Jared is breathing heavily, drool running down his chin, and Jensen can wait no longer. He steps up between Jared’s spread legs, tugs his scrubs down to release his own erection, and slides his aching cock along Jared’s tongue until the tip bumps against the back of Jared’s throat.

Jared gags, throat closing even tighter around Jensen, and he knows he’s not going to last long. Months of looking at Jared’s pretty pink mouth and not being able to use it because Jensen had to save everything for the impregnation process, months of wondering how that tongue would feel against the underside of his dick, how pretty Jared would look as he sucked and licked…

Jensen pulls back just a bit so Jared won’t be sick, but continues hammering his dick into Jared’s wide, wet mouth, gripping Jared’s soft curls, now mostly dry after the long session of manual stimulation Jensen has put him through. Jared’s eyes are streaming with tears, the irises more grey than green now, and Jensen grabs the back of Jared’s head and slides in deep until the base of his cock is pressed against Jared’s mouth and the steel bars that hold it open. He grips Jared’s hair tightly and comes so hard he’s afraid he might pass out.

He doesn’t, of course. Jensen’s a professional. He pulls out and tucks his dick away again, wipes excess drool and semen from Jared’s lips and chin. Jared’s looking at him with an expression of betrayal. He supposes the gag will have to come out soon. It’s hell on the jaw, after all, but he’s not really in the mood for questions right now.

“Right then,” Jensen says briskly when he’s pulled himself together. He reaches for another empty rubber bulb and places it around Jared’s limp cock. “I think at least two more times until you’re coming dry, am I right?”

Jared’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Jensen, feeling deeply relaxed and at peace, turns the radio on softly and hums along with a Prokofiev suite from _Romeo and Juliet_ as he works.

 

That night Jensen sits in his study in his favorite leather chair, feet propped up on an ottoman as he nurses a glass of scotch. The pile of medical journals on the occasional table next to his chair remain untouched. 

He stares into his empty fireplace and thinks about the document Dr. Richings had distributed weeks earlier in another terminally dull staff meeting. It was labeled JP0719: PRENATAL/POSTNATAL CARE CONTACT INFO and consisted of a list of names and numbers so everybody on Jared’s case could get in touch quickly in case of emergency. Jensen had paid almost no attention to it until he came across it again this evening while shuffling papers around on his desk.

He had glanced at it, set it aside, and then picked it up again when a name jumped out at him.

_Wisdom, Robert, Lead Pathologist_

Jensen had sat down heavily in his chair. Somehow in the excitement of his triumph, he had allowed himself to forget the ultimate outcome for test subjects that were successfully impregnated. How could he not? It was unprecedented, talked about only in terms of theories and possibilities for the decade he’d been with WSV.

_Lead Pathologist_

Jared would gestate the baby for as long as his body was capable before the infant was surgically removed from the false womb that had been implanted in him months ago. And then…

And then Jared would be euthanized, his body dissected and the data collected available for teams of researchers to pore over in the hopes of determining what made Jared’s body special.

One live birth would not stave off the extinction of the human race, after all. Plans had to be made, systems put in place, so that men could continue to reproduce until the world had been repopulated with females.

It was just the way of things.

Jensen drains his glass and then hurls it into the fireplace where it shatters against the brick, the shards falling gracelessly into the ash below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my lovely readers shares in the credit--or blame--for how this chapter ends, but it's been so long that I can't remember who...


End file.
